


The final stroke

by Jase0901



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Past, Red Room, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jase0901/pseuds/Jase0901
Summary: Four months have passed since the winter soldier pulled Steve out of the river. Now he starts to remember everything and he not only finds out a lot about himself. As an instructor, he was part of the Red Room and so he knows more about Natasha than she even realizes. With her help, he plans a revenge campaign that finally distances him from his past (Winter Soldier/Black Widow)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Kudos: 3





	The final stroke

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a allowed translation from Ocelot of Fanfiktion
> 
> I hope you like it. Reviews, criticism, etc... are welcome.
> 
> This chapter isn't edited and corrected by a Beta so forgive me for my grammar errors. Unfortunately, English isn't my first language. I'm still searching for a Beta.

Chapter 01: Frozen

I could feel how I slowly unfroze. It was almost more unpleasant than freezing. While I was freezing, at least I was comforted by the certainty that another mission was over, that I would have peace for a short eternity.

I noticed how my thoughts slowly flowed less sluggishly and viscously. Even though I couldn’t yet feel it, the cold made me sleepy. I was so endlessly tired, but they wouldn’t give me time to sleep. They never gave me time.

I could already hear my heartbeat and the numbness subsided in the fingers and toes first. The feeling for my own body slowly flowed back into me. From the outside to the inside, to my heart. My senses sharpened and without opening my eyes I examined my surroundings. Above me was a lamp, I could see its dim light red through my closed eyelids. I was lying on a hard table, maybe made of metal. My right arm, the flesh and blood one, hung over the edge of the table. From the way the sound of my breath was reflected off the walls, I realized that the room couldn’t be very large. Probably about four-square meters.

I was all wet from the melted ice. An ice-cold drop flowed down my arm almost in slow motion, over the ball of my hand to the tip of my index finger. For a short moment, I lost myself in this feeling. The drop hung trembling on my finger, held only by the surface tension. Only a millisecond away from the fall into the depths.

Then everything went much too fast. The drop gave up the hopeless fight against gravity and smashed silently on the ground. This is the way it is with some things they fight their whole miserable lifetime, only to disappear silently in the end. They leave nothing but a wet spot on the floor. I heard footsteps and a door was pushed open. I opened my eyes and wasn’t surprised, I already knew my surroundings.

They pulled me roughly from the table and pushed me through a hallway that was lit by flickering neon lights. About halfway down the hallway, my knees buckled away. My head was foggy and my body was still weakened. They grabbed me by my upper arms and dragged me further. My bare feet slide across the rough concrete floor. I let my head hang and with fading eyesight, I watched fascinated by the blood trail I left behind. I could still see how it was slowly swallowed by the shadow further down the hallway before I was finally overwhelmed by headaches and sluggishness.

\----------

I lay on my back and dreamily looked at some dust shreds that glowed like fire in the rising sun. That’s how it was mostly, the memories came at night, like a dream, in the few hours of sleep I got. My only plan at the moment was to continue as before. I would continue to move from place to place, trying not to hurt anyone.

It had been four months since I had pulled the blond man out of the river. Steve.

I could remember him when he was small and frail before he became the figurehead of the American military. That’s why I had saved him because he had been something like a little brother to me once. Without him, I wouldn’t have remembered. That memory had been the trigger. I had decided to flee. From Hydra, from my past, from the things I had done, and somehow from myself. And now I was lying here not knowing who I was. For Steve, I would always be Bucky, but I didn’t even know exactly who he was. I only knew that Bucky had died when he fell off the train.


End file.
